


Snoozing Beazel

by Azaelia_Foxburr



Category: Jeeves & Wooster
Genre: M/M, absolute fluff and rot, slight crack?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 08:39:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2263113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azaelia_Foxburr/pseuds/Azaelia_Foxburr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Jeeves and Wooster Sleeping Beauty AU. Sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snoozing Beazel

Ask any of my fellow knights in the Order of the Drones, and they will tell you that there is no more preux a chevalier than Sir Bertram the Brave. Fire-breathing dragons? Mere light exercise to work up my appetite before breakfast. Perilous quests into lands unknown? There and back in time for tea. Damsels in distress? Saved legions of them.

The problem comes, I find, rather after I have saved the damsels. Damsels, when no longer in distress, can be a deuced sight more terrifying than any dragon. They have an astonishing amount of relentless perseverance in hunting down weaker creatures than they that is often belied by their genteel appearance. I rather think, if they put their mind to it, damsels would be a good bit better at this whole knighthood business than any of the old chaps at the Drones.  Unfortunately, for the most part, they have no interest in chasing mystical what-have-yous, but are far keener in their pursuits of unsuspecting knights.

It's a dashed uncomfortable situation to find yourself in, I can tell you. It's all very well and good when the enormously grateful parents of the damsel pour equally enormous amounts of money onto your lap, and you accept it with a bow of thanks and an abashed "just doing my job, all in a day's work you know" sort of thing. It's not so very good afterwards when the damsel comes up to you with large, misty eyes and starts spouting rot about eternal gratitude and her life being forever in your debt and how could she ever repay you, kind sir. Because from my experience of these things, declarations of undying gratitude often lead to declarations of undying love, which then lead to declarations of marriage. All on the damsels part, you understand. And the worst bit is that you can't reject them. Rejection of a damsel's tender feelings goes against every code in knighthood; it simply wouldn't be preux. Also, it can lead to the most terrifying consequences. I remember the first time I made the mistake of rejecting a damsel straight to her face, I couldn't sit without wincing for near a month. But that's a tale for another time, what?

Yes, as I was saying, there is no more chivalrous a knight than myself. Come hell or high water, Sir Bertram will brave it all. But dealing with the fairer sex is quite another matter altogether. And it was in a similar d.u. sitch as I have previously described that I found myself when our story begins.

 

"Oh, Sir Bertram!" Princess Madeline gasped in a tremulous voice, grasping at my sleeve.

"Er...yes?" I asked, concerned, for she was doing rather more gasping than a fish out of a pond.

"Oh! How could I ever thank you?" she clutched my sleeve more tightly then, and I began to fear it might rip at the seams.

"Oh, no need. It was no trouble rescuing you at all, my good lady."

"You are too kind, too kind indeed, Sir Bertram. Surely there must be something you want. I must repay your kindness, or be forever in your debt!"

At this point the conversation started to take a rather dangerous turn, what with this "forever in your debt" business, and I began to formulate as quick an escape plan as possible.

"No, no nothing at all! Perfectly content with all I have! Haha!" I tried to throw in a nonchalant chuckle, but I'm afraid it turned out a tad more panicked than I might have liked.

"Oh Bertie," she gave a dreamy sigh, then lifted her head to gaze into my eyes.

It was the large, misty eyes that gave her away, really. 

 

"Bertie! Bertie darling where are you?"

I looked around me with increasing desperation, finding no exits with which to...well, exit, I suppose.

I'd turned tail and ran the moment I saw those telltale large misty eyes but was now, unfortunately, trapped in a dead end corridor.

"Bertie?" The princess's shrill voice was getting ominously closer, and I backed myself against the wall, bracing myself to keep a stiff upper lip for the inevitable discovery. It was then that I suddenly noticed another corridor branching off to my left, which led to a large wooden door. I blinked, baffled, for I was sure it hadn't been there the first time I'd looked. But I've never been one to look the gift h. in the m. as they say, and I wasn't bally about to start now. With a hurried prayer of thanks to whatever deity had deemed Bertram Wooster worthy of their good graces, I raced down the corridor as fast as the pins could carry me, flung myself past the door at the end, and promptly slammed it shut.

I stayed with my ear pressed to the door for a few moments longer, straining to hear any sound announcing the princess's presence. But when a few tense minutes passed and no such sound was forthcoming, I deemed myself safe enough to let out a sigh of relief.

No longer distracted by misty eyed princesses, I began to properly observe the environs of my new sanctuary. The door I had come through was a large, solid oak affair adorned with strange carvings I had never seen before. Lightly, I ran an inquisitive finger over the odd patterns, and was startled when I felt a little thrill run through me. Dashed queer, that l.t. I stopped immediately to give my finger a scrutinising glance, but seeing nothing wrong with it, I decided to shrug it off as a case of the old nerves acting up from adrena-whatsit.

The room itself was a comfortable looking nest. An impressive bookshelf that stretched from the floor to the ceiling spanned the entire length of one side of the room, and was stuffed to the gills with books of all sizes and colours. A pair of armchairs and a chaise lounge sat facing the large fireplace on the opposite wall. In the middle of the room, on a raised platform, sat a large four poster bed. The bed's heavy brocade curtains were drawn, and seemed to be covered in the same peculiar design as the door.

At this point a yawn escaped the Wooster lips, and I realised I felt rather drained. Running away from grateful damsels bent on your hand in marriage tends to do that to one, you know. Deciding a nice, quick nap might be just the ticket to refresh the weary corpus, I ambled over to the bed and drew back the curtains, fully expecting to find a vast, comfortable bed to lie down in.

The bed certainly was vast, and looked all sorts of comfortable, but there was one minor heretofore unseen complication.

The bed wasn't empty. It was, in fact, occupied by possibly the most gorgeous chap I had ever seen.

I simply stood there, stunned into silence by both the unexpected occupant and the unexpected loveliness of said o. Most of the time, any cove's feathers would be ruffled by being described as "lovely", but there seemed to be no other word for the man who lay in front of me right now.

His skin was pale and smooth as alabaster, his hair black as a raven's wing, and his handsomely chiselled face wore the peacefully rested expression that comes with slumber. Dark lashes fanned against his damask cheek, and I rather wondered what colour his eyes were. His nose was endearingly crooked, the only slight imperfection in his features that somehow made him all the more appealing. Watching the sleeping figure, I was rather reminded of that fairy tale Nursie used to tell me when I was still a wee prattling thing. It was about some princess lass who'd had the dashed unfortunate bit of luck to be cursed to sleep for a hundred years, only to be awoken by true love's kiss. Snoozing Beazel or something, I think it was called. Speaking of kisses...Quite involuntarily, my gaze travelled to the mysterious man's lips. They were pink and bowed, and parted ever so slightly, as if in preparation to meet my own...

I felt my face burning up then, and was glad the man wasn't awake to see my embarrassment. I gave the old bean a violent shake, firmly reprimanding the grey matter for coming up with such scandalously indecent thoughts. A true preux chevalier most certainly does not ogle at a chap while he is sleeping and think about kissing him, no matter how bally gorgeous said chap might be.

In my haste to put some distance between self and the sleeping fellow and vanquish all thoughts re: kissing utterly delectable looking coves, I'm afraid I rather forgot about the raised platform and tripped over it as I backed away. Before I could say "I say!" I found my vision consisting solely of ceiling as the back of the Wooster noggin made a none too welcome acquaintance with the flagstone floor. Along the way a pin wheeling arm had made contact with the large brass candle stand by the bed, and it now crashed to the floor with an almighty clang.

"Urgh..." I groaned as I rubbed my head, wincing when I felt a bump which I was quite sure would evolve into a goodish sized egg in day or so.

"Sir?"

I blinked once, and wrinkled my nose in confusion. I didn't recognise the velvet smooth voice that had just called out to me, and last I remembered, there had been no one in the room but yours truly and the sleeping fellow...The sleeping fellow!

"Egad!" I yelped, fairly jumping up in fright and surprise, only to lose my balance and fall again on my trouser seat.

"I apologise sir, I did not intend to startle you,"

The sleeping fellow, or rather, the awake fellow now I suppose, rose from the bed and began to walk towards me. He offered a hand, which I gratefully, if somewhat embarrassedly, accepted, and I was quickly hauled up into the vertical position again.

"Thanks very much, old thing. Dashed sorry to have woken you up, what?"

"It is of no matter, sir. I was about to rise from my nap quite soon, as it was,"

"Naps! Now those are important things, aren't they? Always leave me feeling tickety-boo, as it were. Nothing better than a good afternoon siesta after a heavy luncheon, I always say." I attempted to give a friendly grin to conceal my flustered thoughts and hoped I wasn't blushing too badly. _And to think, Bertram Wooster, you were about to plant your lips on this poor unsuspecting cove as if he were some accursed princess when he was just trying to enjoy his afternoon nap!_

"As you say sir, naps can be most refreshing." Now that the man was awake, I could see the colour of his eyes; blue-grey, like the winter sea. They were intelligent eyes, sparkling with a vivacity his statuesque face did not display. I could not help but be drawn in by them, and I fear I must have rather stared a little too long, for the man gave a polite cough not unlike that of a grazing sheep on a roving hillside.

"Are you feeling quite well, sir?"

"Ah, er, quite," I mumbled, resisting the urge to scuff my feet like a lad of thirteen in front of his childhood sweetheart.

"Perhaps you need some time to recover from the shock of your fall. If I may say so, it did look like a rather painful one, sir."

"Ah yes, perhaps," I nodded dumbly, feeling not a little tongue-tied.

"Please, sir, have a seat while I make a pot of tea," the man with the entrancing eyes led me gently to sit on the edge of the bed, and before I could say another word, he had whisked off.

He reappeared a mere few moments later, bearing a tea tray laden with a tea pot and two lightly steaming cups.

"Thank you," I murmured, accepting the cup he passed to me, and took a long gulp. My eyes widened as the warm drink slid down my throat, and I paused to stare at the tea in wonder.

"I say!" I said.

"Sir?"

"I do believe is the best tea I've ever had the pleasure of tasting!"

"Thank you, sir," the man's lips curled minutely at the edges into an almost smile "I endeavour to give satisfaction."

"You bally well do!" I beamed at him, taking another happy sip of the liquid heaven.

It was then that I realised we had yet to make any introductions.

"I don't believe I've introduced myself just yet! Sir Bertram the Bumbling--I mean er, Brave, of the Order of the Drones. But you may call me Bertie,"

I held out a hand, which the man shook solemnly.

"Reginald Jeeves, but you may address me as Jeeves."

His eyebrow then gave a funny little quirk that was somehow disapproving and he continued "I hope you will not take offence, sir, if I tell you I would feel uncomfortable addressing you in such a familiar manner. I fear it would be highly inappropriate, seeing as our acquaintance is so newly made."

"Oh! No offence taken, my good man. You may call me whatever strikes your fancy! Lord knows the chaps at the Drones do often enough, even without my say so." I gave an insouciant wave of my hand (if insouciant is the word I want, that is) as if to dismiss the matter, ignoring the odd slightly disappointed feeling sink to the base of my stomach.

It was just then that the name of that quaint little fairy tale came back to me; Sleeping Beauty, that was the one!

"Sir?"

Upon observing my new companion's slightly confused countenance, I realised I had rather spoken my thoughts aloud. Once again, I flushed. Good lord, seemed the old facial blood vessels were getting quite a workout today, what?

"Pardon me for asking, sir, but I am curious as to what prompted such an abrupt  mention of the fantastical story."

Jeeves looked at me with those lovely eyes of his, his gaze full of genuine, polite inquiry, and I found myself unable to deny him his answer.

"Well, er, the thing is...well, it's a bit of a long story, really but ah. Um. You see, I came in this room while trying to...avoid a certain beazel. I shan't mention any names; wouldn't be preux, you know. Needless to say, I was in a right bowl of soup. But then I found this room! A dashed bit of good fortune, I can tell you. And er, I was actually going to have a bit of a lie-down in the bed except, obviously, you were in it. And well, I saw you sleeping there and it rather reminded me of er, that Sleeping Beauty bird. You know, the one who falls into an enchanted slumber but wakes up upon receiving her true love's kiss. Not that I tried to kiss you, of course! But, er, that is to say, it's not because I think you aren't...kissable or anything. I'm sure you are extremely er, kissable. That is. Well, quite."

All throughout my bumbling explanation I'd avoided his eyes, feeling my cheeks get redder and redder with each word. I was quite sure the Wooster map now thoroughly resembled a glacé cherry on the very top of the cake of utter awkwardness.

"Thank you, sir," he bent slightly to meet my eyes, his own dancing with an amused air that his face betrayed none of. Jeeves was quite the most interesting man I'd ever met; he only seemed to communicate through his eyes, and it fascinated me. He then leant back, shifting his gaze away from me, and it was as if a powerful lamp had just been extinguished. And it was a rum thing, but I rather felt I missed the warmth of the metaphorical lamp.

"To be honest, sir, your observations were not too far from the truth," Jeeves continued.

He must have seen the puzzled frown of yours truly, for he shortly went on:

"Allow me to explain myself, sir. I'm afraid this is a rather long story, but please bear with me. I am sure you have not failed to observe the unusual designs on the front door?" I nodded, instantly remembering that funny little thrill I'd felt upon running my fingers over aforementioned door.

"Those are not ordinary carvings sir, but are in fact runes."

"...Runes?" I gasped, incredulous "Good lord! You don't mean to say..."

"Indeed sir, this is an enchanted room."

I'm afraid at this point I rather resembled a landed fish, for my mouth had dropped open in utter astonishment and I'm sure my eyes were as wide as a pair of sizable saucers. Jeeves however, did not seem perturbed in the least by my reaction, and continued smoothly on.

"You see, sir, I was originally the royal advisor to the king of a wealthy and prosperous kingdom. One day, the king received an invitation from the Witch Queen of the neighbouring realm to stay at her castle for a few weeks in the summer. The King readily accepted her invite, for both kingdoms were on the most cordial terms.  As royal advisor, I was obliged to accompany the king on his trip. It was on the first night we dined at the Witch Queen's castle that I made a most grievous error. The Witch Queen accidentally dropped her fork in the middle of the main course, and I retrieved her fork for her, picking it up with my left hand. Little did I know this action was, in fact, a declaration of love in the witch culture.

By the time I realised my mistake, it was too late. The Witch Queen had already gone on to announce our upcoming nuptials to her court, and preparations for the wedding were being speedily arranged. I attempted to explain the situation to her, telling her that I had had no intention whatsoever of asking for her hand in marriage--"

"Heavens above!" I exclaimed, unable to control my agitation "Do you mean to say, you _rejected_ this Witch Queen?!"

"Indeed, sir. I am afraid the Witch Queen did not handle my rejection well at all, and I rather incurred her wrath," Jeeves' right eyebrow gave a slight twitch, and I somehow knew it was his equivalent of a shudder. I barely repressed a pained grimace myself. Poor chap! An enraged beazel is nightmare enough, but a _magical_ enraged beazel? One could hardly bear thinking about it. I gave a sympathetic shake of the head as only a man who has found himself drowning in similarly deep soup can, and reached out to pat Jeeves' hand in what I hoped was a consoling manner.

Apparently my efforts at consoling worked, for Jeeves was able to press on shortly after.

"Suffice to say, it was...not a memory I will easily forget, sir. In her anger, the Witch Queen locked me in this cursed room, enchanted by her own hands, where I was doomed to be confined till the end of my days, never to be found by anyone."

There was a moment of sombre silence, as the final words of Jeeves' story hung heavy in the air between us. But then it occurred to this Wooster that there seemed to be a loophole in this tale. Now, I will freely admit I'm not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer, but this loophole was so wide it might as well have been dancing in its birthday suit on top of a castle garret yelling "Look at me! I'm the Queen of Sheba!". All this metaphorically speaking, of course, because the last time I checked loopholes couldn't dance or yell and were in fact not sentient beings at all.

"Well, Jeeves, this Queen Witch bird couldn't have been a very good one, could she?" I scoffed "After all, I found you pretty easily, what?"

"Ah," Jeeves gave a somewhat sheepish cough at this point "You see sir, there is, in fact, a way of breaking this curse.

In what I suspect was a rather bitter sense of twisted humour at the time, the condition to break the Queen Witch's curse was that I could only be found, and thus rescued, by my true love."

For a moment I could only sit there in  frozen silence, the grey cells frantically attempting to absorb what I'd just heard.

Then the full ramifications of Jeeves' words sunk in, and my heart began to race at a seemingly inhuman pace, and my face grew so hot I could fairly feel the steam rising off my skin.

"D-do you mean to say that I-I...That is, I am...?" I floundered helplessly, feeling I was making a right fool of myself.

"It would seem so, sir." Jeeves' face appeared as impassively calm as ever, but dashed if I didn't see a tinge of red colouring the tips of his ears.

There was an uncomfortable silence for a minute, neither of us entirely sure how to continue. I fidgeted with the edge of the duvet, desperate to reign in my wildly spinning thoughts. At last, the silence was more than I could bear, and, firmly screwing the courage to the sticking place, I took a deep breath and asked

"Well, what usually comes next in these things?"

Jeeves, who had been studiously inspecting the ceiling till then, turned to face me. There was now a mischievous glint in his blue eyes, and another indefinable thingness that sent a thrill through me reminiscent of the one I'd gotten when I touched the door, only far more powerful and far, far better.

"I believe, sir, that this is the point in which the grateful heroine, or hero, in this case, kisses his saviour to express his thanks."

"J-jolly good, then,"

And it _was_ jolly good, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> So! That's the end of my very first J/W fic! 
> 
> It was really more of a random plot bunny that popped into my head the other day, actually. And eventually one thing led to another, so here we are, I suppose.
> 
> ...I hope I haven't made a complete hash of things, what?
> 
> Er, I'd love if you could all tell me what you think of it, really. Constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated!
> 
> p.s In case any of you noticed the resemblance, yes I did sort of steal the whole fork dropping thingummy from kyou kara maoh. Sorry, I'm not very original!


End file.
